


Lux Aurumque

by TempuraSteel



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blood and sadness, Gladnis, It took me 4 months to be able to write this, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 03:56:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11524044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempuraSteel/pseuds/TempuraSteel
Summary: Ignis witnesses the last sunset he will ever lay eyes upon before the effects of battle take their permanent toll.





	Lux Aurumque

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: **This was written before the DLC.** I've been compelled to write this for months, but it wasn't until I saw the trailer for "Episode Ignis" that I felt I was ready. And even then? Maybe not. I wrote this piece to "Light and Gold" by Eric Whitacre. I highly suggest listening to it (the choral version, not the band version) whilst reading this, if you wanna feel some extra pain. Heh. 
> 
> Okay, here goes . . .

The cold kiss of damp concrete upon his cheek.  A pillow of gravel beneath his temple.  Grit and salt upon his tongue filtered through the metallic tang of fresh blood.

 

_His blood._

 

He tests the weight of his body upon a bent wrist and heaves himself onto his side.  Through the haze of the ocean's wind-swept pulse a blur of sunlight creases the horizon, wavering threads of gold and pink against a deepening purple canvas.  The edges blacken and fade, an unfocused shimmer that he struggles to bring into sharp focus, but the effort is a useless endeavor.

 

The light is fading, slipping from his visual grasp layer by precious layer, retracting into a void of darkened permanence.  Already, it has retreated from his left, the peripheral of his right fraying into a gradual blur.

 

"Ignis?  _Ignis!_ " 

 

Footsteps hasten to his side in a desperate scrabble of leather against concrete, the jingle of metal upon heavy fabric at his side.

 

He licks his split lip but does not wince at the spark of pain, nor the coppery essence of blood that coats his tongue anew.

 

"Oh gods, Iggy . . ."

 

A hand slicks his hair from his forehead, battled-roughened fingers trailing his cheek.  Against the backdrop of the fading light of day, the soot-streaked visage of the one he holds most dear asserts itself into his vision, brow creased across the scar upon his forehead, amber eyes afire with both fear and concern, lips parted, rain-dampened hair ruffled by the evening wind.

 

"Gladio."

 

"Dammit, we've got to get you out of here."  The hand moves to slip beneath his shoulders, but Ignis stills the movement with his own.

 

"A moment," he says. 

 

"Iggy . . . "

 

Tugging his glove free of his own hand, Ignis drops the tattered leather to the ground and reaches bare, trembling fingers to his companion.

 

"Stay there," Ignis says.  "Just as you are."

 

He brushes the stubbled cheek with his fingertips, traces the stoic line of his jaw, commits the pathway to memory.  He focuses on the mouth that has pressed against his own so many times, the way that the bottom lip is slightly fuller than the top, the faint sprinkling of hair just above it.  He analyzes the blades of the dirt-streaked cheeks, the fierce glint of those eyes that mirror the darkest smattering of color against the backdrop of slow-fading evening, the scar that bisects the right eye, and the one that converges at the edges just above it, every line a precious piece of what will soon be mere recollection. 

 

He slides his hand into the soft waves of Gladio's hair, the rich brown darkened to near black by the passing rains, twines it between his fingers, trails his fingers down the thick cords of Gladio's neck to his collarbone.  The man has always been carved perfection to Ignis's eyes, but it is the nuances of his skin which draw his attention now, the faint marks of healed wounds that have come too close for comfort at the edge of his neck, the two freckles near the center of his chest, the hint of dark brown that rims his irises.

 

His blinks his good eye and his vision brightens to an explosion of white and visual static erodes the edges of the scene,  a slow-decaying dullness that blackens to spots of grey.

 

Fingers skim his cheek, wiping away a trickle of blood and Ignis grasps the tips of them within his own and nods towards the horizon.

 

"Look at it, Gladio," he says.   His split lip cracks into a smile.  "Is it not beautiful?"

 

The other man's gaze does not leave his own.  "Never seen anything like it."

 

With his free hand, he traces the torn edges of Gladio's collar, worrying the tattered material between two fingers before tugging him closer.  "I shall have to mend this."

 

His gaze shifts to the disintegration of Gladio's face, the hard angles softening to a blur, the burn of his eyes a diffuse smolder of amber upon a pale background as Ignis reaches to brush his cheek.  Fresh warmth trickles over his fingers and down his wrist, the broken heave of Gladio's breath a cracking contrast to the lulling rush of water upon stone.  

 

Gladio leans closer, the fading light of day's end eclipsed by his countenance, a halo of sunset brightening the tips of his hair to shades of golden red, the backs of his fingers trailing Ignis's blood-streaked cheek.  "How's . . . the view, Iggy?"

 

A curtain of darkness shrouds his gaze and a smile curves Ignis's mouth, his hand lingering upon the bristled angle of Gladio's jaw.

 

"Spectacular."         

 

 

 


End file.
